


Creature Feature

by Saone



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Character Death, Crack, M/M, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-13
Updated: 2011-05-13
Packaged: 2017-10-19 09:03:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saone/pseuds/Saone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something hungry is lurking in Lake Winchester.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Creature Feature

**Author's Note:**

> Written for spn_cinema on livejournal, this is based on one of my favorite comfort movies of all time - [Lake Placid](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0139414/). It's a modern version of a fifties style Creature Feature, and worth a viewing by anyone who likes monster movies, humor with their horror, or Betty White being fabulous.  
> Warnings: Minor character death (somebody has to be monster-bait), descriptions of gore, wonky science.

"So, this is my tax dollars at work, huh?" Jensen Ackles says. He's got his arms crossed over his chest watching the Fish and Game guy he's babysitting zip up his wetsuit. Jensen thinks about offering to help the guy - Abel - with his gear, except that would require a bit more effort than he's willing to put into this expedition.

"You got something against nature, Sheriff?" Abel says. He's fiddling with his scuba tank, and looking kind of ridiculous with his cocky grin and neoprene covered stick legs.

"If I had something against nature do you think I'd live in the ass-end of Maine?" Jensen looks up, eyes scanning the calm - if murky - lake and the shore and treeline beyond. "I can like nature and still think studies like this are a waste of money, energy, and time."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Have I taken you away from the office during peak crime hours? Will the streets of Winchester run red with blood now that her fearless leader is out of town? You know, I bet, as we speak, some little old lady is jaywalking to get to the Shop 'n Save."

Jensen's not impressed. "Shouldn't you be counting beaver dick right about now?"

Abel laughs and flips him off before he flips himself over the side of the boat. Jensen watches as the ripples from Abel's splash fan out before they disappear, leaving the surface once again as tranquil and smooth as a piece of glass.

Jensen sighs and tilts his face to the sun, glad that Chris had reminded him to put on sunblock before he left the station. The only thing that would make this fool's errand worse would be if he gets burned on top of wasting a perfectly good morning.

"Mating habits of amphibious rodents, my ass," he mutters before he pulls out his cellphone and starts a game of solitaire.

Jensen's just won his fifth game in a row when, about thirty feet from the bow of the boat, Abel breaches the surface of the lake. He pops up like a cork, arms flailing, a high-pitched scream tearing it's way out of his mouth. Jensen startles so hard he drops his phone. But before he can do anything more than take a breath, Abel's gone again, his body disappearing under the water, leaving nothing but ripples behind.

"Abel! What the- Hang on!" Jensen starts the boat and steers towards where he saw the other man. He cuts the engine and peers over the side. His worried reflection stares back at him.

"Abel?" he calls out again. "Abel! Son of a..." Jensen can swim, but he's not a diver by any means. Would he even be able to find Abel in such dark water?

Jensen spends a few more precious seconds indecisively waiting before he says, "fuck it," and starts to pull off his boots. He's only managed to get the left one off when Abel practically explodes out of the water next to him.

"Shit!" Acting on pure instinct, Jensen reaches out and grabs Abel's arms. He tugs, trying to get the man out of the water, but he nearly gets pulled overboard himself when _something_ tugs back. Abel's fingers dig into Jensen's arms painfully, and Jensen holds on just as tight. He uses his legs to brace himself against the side of the boat. For one sickening second the entire craft lurches sideways, and Jensen's sure he's going under. Then, the pressure holding Abel is gone, the boat rights itself, and Jensen's able to easily drag the man over the side.

Jensen sets Abel down and kneels beside him. He's pretty sure he's asking - screaming - questions, but there's blood rushing through his ears, and there's blood coming out of Abel's mouth. Abel's _twitching_ \- his shoulders and arms shaking with fine tremors - then he's abruptly still. His head slumps to the side.

Almost mechanically, Jensen's fingers search out Abel's carotid. It's instinct, and falling back on it helps Jensen beat off the shock that's trying to set in. His eyes snap up, scanning the surface of the lake as his hand reaches blindly for his cellphone. His fingertips brush the metal casing, but when he picks it up and examines it, he finds it waterlogged. He knows he probably wouldn't have been able to get a signal anyway, not this far out. He won't be able to call for help until he gets to the radio in his truck.

He knows this. Just like he knows that before he gets up, and starts the boat, and heads back to shore, he'll have to deal with what his mind's been shying away from. He'll have to take a good, long look, and then suck it up because he can't afford to get caught in the madness of what just happened.

As blood and viscera soaks into his pant legs, Jensen forces himself to look down Abel's body. To look past his chest. He forces himself to see why the man felt so damn light when he came out of the water.

_____________

 

"I'm fine," Jensen says. It's kind of become his mantra since what Mayor Gamble had so charmingly dubbed 'The Incident'. But he's not addressing her or the town council at the moment. Instead, he's facing the wholly unimpressed and disbelieving stare of his deputy, Chris Kane. "I am," Jensen says again, shoving his hands into his pockets and trying to adopt a nonchalant stance.

Chris, good friend that his is, isn't buying it. "Really? 'Cause, hell, son, I wouldn't be. You practically watched a man get torn in half." He turns his head to stare at the building behind them, like he could peer through the facade of Edlund's Funeral Home and see what remains of Jake Abel.

"But that's just it, Chris; I didn't." Jensen scrubs a hand through his hair. "I didn't _see_ a damn thing."

Chris frowns. He purses his lips, like it's taking effort to hold something in.

"Don't say it," Jensen says.

"I wasn't gonna say anything."

"It's just been a couple hours and I've already heard people talking." Jensen crosses his arms over his chest and scowls. "The last thing I want is for a bunch of yahoos with more ammunition than sense to go out traipsing after some... some..."

"Lake monster?" Chris says, easily side-stepping the swat Jensen aims at his head.

"What did I just say?"

Chris shrugs. "Might be good for tourism. Didn't do Lake Champlain any harm. And you know where there's tourists there's tickets, which means revenue, which means both our sorry asses might end up surviving the next round of budget cuts."

Jensen blinks. "I'm scarily close to agreeing with you, which means I think it's time for you to head back to the office."

"Are you sure? Because I-"

"I'm fine." Jensen huffs out a short laugh. "Seriously, Chris, I am. I'm sure that when all is said and done I'll have a nice, long freakout, but for right now, I'm okay." He checks his watch. "The other Fish and Game guy I spoke to should be here any minute. We'll go in, hear what Traci may have found, and go from there."

Just as Jensen finishes talking a fairly newish, dark blue F-150 pulls up to the curb. The driver's door opens and this huge guy kind of unfolds himself from the cab. He's wearing jeans, the Fish and Game Department's khaki shirt, and a scowl.

"Ackles?" the man asks as he rounds the truck.

Jensen holds out his hand. The shake is brief and perfunctory. "Padalecki, right? This is Deputy Kane."

Padalecki doesn't look impressed with either of them. "Aren't you a little young for the job?" he asks Jensen.

Jensen can see Chris start to bristle. He holds up a quelling hand. "Unless you have a creepy painting stashed away in an attic someplace, I'm gonna have to say glass houses, man." He turns to Chris, hoping to cut off the probably caustic reply he can see brewing in Padalecki's face. "Why don't you head back to the office. We'll be along shortly."

"Jensen, I-"

"I got this," Jensen says. And he does, really. In fact, handling a pissed off Game Warden might just be the least taxing thing he'll have to do all day.

Chris nods and gives Padalecki a world class stink-eye before he starts the three block walk back to the office.

Jensen waits until Chris is out of earshot and then says, "I take it Abel was your friend."

"I barely knew the guy. But he could have been a complete stranger and I still wouldn't let you get away with this."

"Get away with..." Jensen's brow furrows. "Get away with what?"

Padalecki's all piss and vinegar. "With trying to to derail this investigation."

"What the hell?" Of all the reactions Jensen had expected from Abel's colleague - grief, anger, denial - an accusation of corruption wasn't on the list. "Okay, I'm not exactly sure what you think is-"

"Why did you bring Abel's body here instead of sending it straight to Bangor?"

Jensen takes a deep breath. He guesses that behavior could look a little suspect, but he had a good reason for keeping the body in town. "Because Edlund's is the only place around with a body freezer, so it acts as the town morgue when needed, and I wanted someone to take a look at Abel now while his wounds are fresh." He doesn't add how he wouldn't exactly trust the state guys not to pass off what had happened as nothing more than an accident.

"Right," Padalecki says, sneer still firmly in place, "his wounds. I read your preliminary report, and there is only one thing in New England lakes that can make injuries like that."

Jensen starts. Granted, his purview is mostly land oriented, but could what have happened really be explained simply by someone in the know? Could the answer to this horrific event be ho-hum and mundane to a nature guy? "Dude, seriously? What?"

"Boat propellers."

It takes a moment for Padalecki's answer to sink into Jensen's brain, but once it does, it only takes an instant to make him see red. "Wait a minute, you think-"

"I think you ran him over. You realized what you did, and you proceeded to concoct some story-"

Jensen's hand ball into fists. "Concoct?!"

"Yeah, _concoct_. Make up. Falsify. Lie out your-"

Jensen holds up a hand and cuts the other man off by saying, "you know what, fine. Don't believe me. But if you're just going to make up your mind and blame me without knowing all the facts about what happened, then you can just head on back to your state office. I don't need your kind here. Now, I am going to go into our make-shift morgue and see what Doc Dinwiddie has found. If you can pull your head outta your ass, you're more than welcome to join me." Jensen stalks off towards Edlunds, not really caring if Padalecki is following him or not. He knows what really happened on that lake, and he hopes to hell Traci will be able to tell the overgrown jackass that it was definitely not a _boating accident_.

_____________

 

"To quote Richard Dreyfuss," Traci Dinwiddie says, "'this was no boating accident'."

Jensen wants to aim a triumphant smirk towards the still frowning Game Warden, but he restrains himself. The doc, normally so irrepressible, looks to have aged ten years. Whatever she found must have been bad, and Jensen feels his stress level ratchet up just that much higher.

"If you don't mind," Padalecki says, rather primly, "I'd like to have a look at the body."

Traci's eyebrows shoot up. She glances at Jensen. He shrugs, and she says, "knock yourself out."

Jensen's seen enough of Abel's corpse to last him a lifetime, so he makes sure to keep his eyes trained on Padalecki. He can't help but take a bit of satisfaction at seeing the jackass' face go from healthy tan to sickly gray. Padalecki swallows a few times, and Jensen hopes there's a trashcan nearby.

To his credit, the big man doesn't throw up. He even leans down to get a closer look at Abel's wounds.

"Well?" Traci asks, a smidge of condescension in her voice.

Padalecki straightens. "You're right. I don't know what did this, and there will have to be a full autopsy, of course, but... This wasn't caused by a propeller." He looks at Jensen, contrition written plainly across his face. "I'm sorry about what I-"

"Don't worry about it."

"No, but I-"

"Dude," Jensen says, voice firm, "you apologized once; that's enough for me. Now, you guys have told me what didn't cause this; is there any chance of telling me what did?"

"Actually," Traci says, "I found something. In the wound."

When nothing more is forthcoming, Jensen prods a bit. "What did you find?"

"It's..." Traci pinches the bridge of her nose. She gives a harsh, little laugh. "Honestly, I'm having a little bit of trouble with this, Jensen. I mean, you know me; I'm as open-minded as someone around here gets, but..." She takes a deep breath and stands up a little straighter. "The injuries aren't concurrent with those inflicted by a propeller. His spine was... crushed, not cut. And I while I was examining the edges of his torso I saw something odd protruding from one of his rib bones." Traci directs them to a side table where she gently unfolds a white cloth.

They all stare for a moment at the incongruous thing before them.

"It's a tooth." Padalecki says.

"It's a big-ass tooth," Jensen adds. The thing has to be at least two and a half inches long, if not larger. It's a conical shape and wicked looking as hell.

"Yeah," Traci says. "Pretty much."

"What's it a tooth from?" Jensen asks.

"At what point in the past few minutes did I become a zoologist?!" Traci grimaced. "Sorry. Sorry." She rolls her shoulders back, and the pops from a few cracking bones echo through the small room. "I don't know what it's from. I did take the liberty to send the measurements, along with a couple of pictures, to some people I know in a few different fields. I'm hoping one of them might have an answer. It's just... I'm not the only one creeped out right now, am I?"

Jensen clears his throat, but he doesn't answer. He also very pointedly does not think about how close he came to being dumped in the lake this morning.

"What about you, Mr. Fish and Game guy?" Traci arches an eyebrow.

Padalecki looks horrifically out of his depth, and very, very young. He leans down until his face is less than an inch away from the tooth. "It doesn't look... My best guess would be a bear incisor, except I'm pretty sure I'd be wrong."

"Bear?" Jensen shakes his head. "That size, it'd have to be a grizzly - one hell of a grizzly - and they haven't been found in New England for about a century."

"Which is one of the reasons I said I'd be wrong," Padalecki says, a bit of his former testiness raising its head. "Also, the shape is... off." He takes a deep breath. "I've never seen anything like it."

"It looks almost..." Traci pauses, "Fuck my life. Prehistoric, okay? It looks prehistoric."

Jensen privately agrees, but he's certainly not ready to voice that opinion out loud. Yet.

Jared slowly shakes his head. "No, this isn't a fossil. I don't know what kind of creature this came out of, but I do know it was alive when it lost the tooth."

"I didn't say it looked like a fossil," Traci's voice is soft and serious, "I said it looked prehistoric."

Padalecki doesn't scoff, or call her crazy. He blinks a few times and asks Jensen, "how long did the attack last?"

Jensen's mouth is dry. "Seconds. It took seconds. I think if it had gone on any longer it would have capsized the boat."

"Your boat nearly turned over?" Padalecki's eyes grow wide.

Traci reaches over and places her hand on Jensen's shoulder. She squeezes, her grip surprisingly strong. "Gotta say, I'm pretty damn glad you stayed dry today, Sheriff."

Jensen glances at the tooth. "You and me both."

Padalecki clears his throat, bringing their attention to him. "I'd like to see this lake," he says.

Jensen checks his watch. "First thing tomorrow." Padalecki opens his mouth, probably to argue, and Jensen says, "The lake's about twenty-five miles outside of town. By the time we get there, and get a boat unhitched and in the water, the sun'll be on its way down. I'm not going out there in the dark, Padalecki, and neither are you."

"Jared."

"What?"

"We'll more than likely dispense with formalities at some point during this investigation," Jared shrugs and looks oddly bashful, "might as well do it now."

Jensen can recognize an olive branch when he sees one. Besides, if worse comes to worse, a two syllable name would be much easier to yell out in a life or death situation. "Jensen," he says, slightly inclining his head.

"Did I just witness some sort of odd, male-bonding ritual?" Traci asks. "Are there any more steps? Does anything need to be compared and/or measured?"

Jensen rolls his eyes. "Don't you have a body to prepare for transport?" He grips Jared's elbow and starts to maneuver him out of the room. "Let me know if you hear anything about the tooth," he says over Traci's griping. He's glad that Traci's personality wasn't completely beaten down by the shock of Abel's body; he just wishes it hadn't started to resurface in front of company.

_____________

 

Standing out in the pleasant sunshine of a gorgeous day, the information Jensen had just learned from Traci seems even more nightmarish - there's something currently unidentifiable and carnivorous living in Winchester Lake.

Regardless of the mild temperature, Jensen feels a chill run down his spine.

Padalecki, no, _Jared_ , looks like he's undergoing his own internal crisis.

"You okay?" Jensen asks. He doesn't offer a friendly hand to an arm or shoulder, like he would do with his deputies or friends, but Jensen does stand a bit closer than he normally would.

Jared gives him a weak smile. "Just trying to wrap my head around things," he says. "Again, I'm really sorry for how I acted-"

"Hey, what did I say?"

"Either you let me apologize proper-like, or you'll have to deal with the consequences once my festering, lapsed-Catholic guilt takes over my life and leaves me a shell of the man I once was."

Jensen blinks a few times, but when he catches a subtle twinkle in Jared's eye he lets out a bark of a laugh that startles them both. "Sorry," he says, chuckling, "guess I needed to release some tension."

"Can't imagine why."

"Yeah. And feel free to grovel if you think it would help assuage any regret over your obvious failings in tact and discretion." Jensen can't quite keep a straight face and he's rewarded when Jared smiles big enough to show off two rather impressive dimples. He's not exactly sure what's going on, but if Jensen didn't know any better, he'd swear this feels like flirting.

"I don't know about _groveling_ ," Jared says, "but I could definitely get behind buying you a cup of coffee."

Okay, maybe it is flirting. Jensen is both thrilled - Officer Padalecki ain't exactly hard on the eyes - and slightly incredulous - it was just a few hours ago that he almost got _eaten_ by something. And while normally Jensen wouldn't look the gift horse of hot guy flirting with him in the mouth, there are more important things on his plate than his woeful lack of a love life.

"Tell you what," he says, "why don't we walk on over to the Roché Café, you buy me that cup of coffee, and we have nice, little chat about our... problem."

"You don't want to drive?" Jared asks, hooking a thumb towards his truck.

"Nah, it's not that far, only a block or so." He raises an eyebrow. "In case you missed it, Winchester ain't that big."

"Yeah, I kinda got that with the whole funeral home doubling as a morgue thing." They start to walk. "And Traci isn't an official coroner, is she?"

"That's one of her duties," Jensen says, "but she's mainly the town G.P."

Jared shows his dimples again. "It's very... Mayberry-esque. Is Deputy Kane only allowed one bullet?"

Jensen laughs again, in spite of himself. "I'm pleading with you to never say that again. Ever. Especially if you want to keep yourself un-perforated."

"Duly noted," Jared says.

After a few more minutes of affable chatting, interposed with the occasional teasing remark by Jared - the man could be quite charming when he wasn't acting like an ass - they arrive at the café. Jensen pauses before opening the door. He puts a light hand on Jared's chest. "Fair warning, the owner is... a bit _eccentric_."

"Isn't everyone in this town?" Jared asks cheekily.

"I'm going to take that as a compliment," Jensen says before pushing the heavy glass door open and stepping inside. He waves and nods as various cries of 'Sheriff' ring out from around the restaurant. He spies an empty booth in the corner, but before he can claim it a soft hand lands on his arm.

"Is it true," Julie McNiven asks, her eyes solemn and wide. "Is there really a monster out in Winchester Lake?"

Even thought Julie's voice was soft it must have carried because Jensen can almost see several sets of ears perk up. He clears his throat and puts on his best 'public official' face. "Julie, there's-"

"I heard a man got bit in half," Katie Cassidy interrupts from her place at the counter. "Care to comment?"

In Jensen's opinion, Katie would be much more at home terrorizing surfers or baby seals then running the weekly published Winchester Gazette. He forces a smile onto his face. "Now, Ms. Cassidy-"

"There was an incident at Winchester Lake," Jared says smoothly, stepping up beside Jensen, "and a man was killed. But I can assure you that the Department of Inland Fisheries and Wildlife, working in tandem with the Winchester Sheriff's Department, will be launching a full investigation into the matter. And, until the time that said investigation is concluded, I'm going to insist that all inquires into the matter be handled by the state office in Augusta."

"We have a right-"

"To call the state office in Augusta, yes, you do."

Katie looks gobsmacked. "But-"

"You have a nice day, Ma'am." Jared's grin is blinding.

Jensen bites back his irritation and gives Katie and anyone else watching a 'what can you do' type of shrug. He then brushes past Jared and walks to the booth. Once Jared's settled in on the bench opposite his Jensen says, "look, I understand that Fish and Game automatically takes the lead in this, and I'm only really still around by your good graces, but in the future, if you could try to not _completely_ undermine me in front of-"

"Jensen," Jared says, cutting him off, "I'm not trying to undermine you." Jared's eyes cut away, and he picks at an edge of his paper placemat. "I _wouldn't_ try and undermine you. I just thought I could deflect some of the attention away from you." The top of Jared's cheeks flush. " _My_ job isn't dependent on these people voting for me in the next election cycle, which means I can be an unhelpful hardass without worrying about any repercussions. Unlike you."

"Oh," Jensen says, slightly mollified. "Well. Thanks. I guess." He leans across the table. "You know that's not gonna stop people from talking, right? In fact, an attitude like that might make them talk more."

"As long as they don't waste our time by talking to us, I don't really care. You know as well as I do that there's no hope trying to shut down small town gossip. The best we _can_ hope for is finding our answers before the public starts to get really belligerent."

Before Jensen has a chance to respond that even if Jared made himself a convenient target, he and his deputies would still be the ones handling the complaints, Seb, the café's owner, comes sauntering up to their table.

"Gentlemen, I'm running a two for one Winnie Special. Trout, caught fresh this morning," Seb lowers his voice conspiratorially, "and the fisherman lived to tell the tale."

"Winnie?" Jensen asks, already knowing he's going to regret it.

"Of course. Like Nessie, or Chessie. I'm even going to be generous and not trademark the name," Seb huffs. "And _some_ people say I wouldn't know civic duty if it fell on my face and started to wriggle." He looks down the length of the room and makes a rather rude gesture towards one of the Town Councilmen sitting in a booth along the opposite wall. "Suck it, Singer!" He turns back to Jensen. "Do you think it's too early to order tee-shirts? What about plushies? Bumperstickers?"

Jensen feels a pulse of pain shoot out from behind his eyes. He makes a mental note to pick up some Tylenol before he heads back to his office. "Yes."

"Hmmm. I suppose you're right. No one's even seen the beastie yet. I would hate to get stuck with a plesiosaur design only to find out its some sort of eel-like creature."

"Yeah," Jensen says dryly, "that would suck." He glances over to Jared who looks like he just swallowed something unpleasant. "Can we get two coffees?" he asks Seb.

"Of course. If you want to be boring." Seb makes a notation on his server's pad and saunters off.

"I did warn you," Jensen says.

Jared leans across the table and whispers, "you said 'eccentric', not a promotion-hungry loon. Jake's body is barely cold, for Chrissakes."

Jensen winces and tries not to think about Chris' tourism idea. "Look, you have to understand, this is a small town. Nothing happens here. Ever." Jensen lays his palms flat on the table. "So, when you have a gory tragedy compounded by a mystery, people are going to act a little... nutty, at first." He nods a thanks as Julie sets coffees in front of them.

When she's gone Jared says, "you don't think any of your other 'eccentrics' might do something stupid, do you, like try and find this thing on their own?"

"I've already sent a deputy out to cordon off the main access road, and I've got others spreading the word among the county's more _enthusiastic_ hunters and fishermen that the entire area's off limits."

"What about the people who live on the lake?"

"Well, that's kind of where we lucked out. It's mostly uninhabited. It has been a traditional spot for skinny-dipping with the high-school age crowd, but the only people who live within miles of it are a couple of old codgers, Jim Beaver and Stephen Williams. They got grandfathered in when the place became a state park back in the seventies."

"Isn't that a little odd," Jared asks, "for a lake that size to be uninhabited?"

Jensen shrugs. "Ever since Campbell Reservoir was built most people just go there for boating or fishing - it's closer to town, and a hell of a lot easier to get to. Lake Winchester only has one paved access road and that leads to the main dock. In fact, when we go out to talk to Beaver and Williams we'll probably just take the boat and go 'cross the lake instead of trying to navigate one of the trucks through the woods."

Jared's eyebrows raise. "We?"

Jensen feels foolish. He had naturally assumed that he, and the rest of the Sheriff's department, would continue to be involved in the investigation. "I just thought... I mean, of course, if you want to handle this alone then-"

"No!" Jared looks alarmed. "I didn't mean..." He fiddles with his cup for a moment, then takes a sip. "I appreciate you automatically involving me in the interview."

"But you-"

"I know _technically_ I'm in charge. But you know these people and this area, Jensen; there's no way I could do this without you."

Jensen tries to hide his pleased smile behind the rim of this coffee cup. "Well," he says after swallowing, "you _could_. It would just take you longer, and you'd probably suck at it."

Jared's pleased grin seemed to indicate they were back on equal footing. "Uh huh. When do you want to talk to the, uh, _codgers_?"

"First thing tomorrow morning while Chris and the others set up camp," Jensen says. He looks through the window of the café to the lengthening shadows on the street. He looks back to Jared. "Do you need me to find you a place to stay tonight? There's a motel not too far down the highway, or I'm sure I could find somebody to put you up." Jensen tries to remember just how messy his guestroom is. He's pretty sure he ran the vacuum through there at least some time in the past few months.

"You offering?" Jared's dimples are back, and they seem to get deeper as Jensen's face gets redder. "Thanks, but I'm gonna have to head back home and get my gear anyway. I'm only about two hours away so it's not that bad."

Jensen snorts. "Yeah, I guess on your trip out you didn't think you'd be sticking around here very long, huh?"

Jared ducks his head and rubs the back of his neck. "I'm really glad I was wrong. About you, I mean." He clears his throat and pulls his wallet out of a back pocket. "I should head out," he says, putting a few bills on the table. "I'll meet you at your office, around seven?"

"Sounds good," Jensen says. He watches Officer Padalecki ease out of the booth and gracefully maneuver around tables, chairs, and townspeople. When he gets to the door he pauses, looks over his shoulder, and smiles at Jensen. Then he's gone and Jensen is left with an odd feeling in his chest from his heart beating double-time.

Seb appears at the table to collect the money and Jared's cup. "I heard Chris thinks your tall drink of something is a bit of a prick, but he seemed all right to me."

"How did you hear... you know what, never mind," Jensen says. "And he's not _my_ tall drink of anything."

Seb gives him an admonishing look. "Sheriff," he says chidingly. "Changing gears, I know we agreed it's too early for tee-shirts, but what do you think about hats?"

_____________

 

Jensen's more than a little apprehensive about getting back on the lake. But when the time comes, he swallows his nerves, shores up his pride, straightens his spine and, without hesitation, climbs on board the whaler Jared brings down the next morning. He sits back and keeps his eyes peeled as Jared steers them across the water. The surface is as calm as ever, and with a breeze lightly blowing in from the south and a symphony of birdsong coming from the gently swaying trees, it's almost enough to make Jensen forget about the harrowing, near death experience he had not more than twenty-four hours ago.

"Pretty place," Jared calls out over the noise of the engine as he pilots the twenty foot-long whaler.

Jensen grunts noncommittally.

"You know, I can't help thinking about what you said yesterday," Jared says, a teasing tone to his voice, "about the skinny-dipping." He looks over his shoulder at Jensen. "You know about that from personal experience?"

Jensen shifts a bit on his hard, wooden seat. "As a sworn officer of the law I'm afraid I have to decline to answer that." Jared's laughter rings out, and Jensen feels ridiculously pleased with himself. He's already firmly told himself to not put a lot of stock in Jared's flirtations, but there shouldn't be any harm in playing along a bit. Especially not when it gets him another glimpse of those dimples.

Jared opens his mouth, but whatever remark he was going to make is truncated by the appearance of a small homestead on the other side of a bend in the lake. There's a cape style house set off to the side, just beyond the bulkhead, and a smattering of outbuildings including a well-kept looking barn. Chickens flit here and there while a half dozen cows and two horses stare balefully out from behind a split-rail fence.

"Nice place," Jared says as he pulls the boat up alongside the dock and cuts the engine.

Jensen doesn't respond. He's keeping his attention on the figure ambling out of what looks like a well-tended garden, a hoe in one hand and a shotgun in the other.

Smooth as silk, Jensen flips the snap on his holster. He doesn't touch the butt of his gun, but his hand hovers close enough for his intentions to be clear. With the sun glinting off his star pinned to his shirt, he calls out, "Mr. Beaver. Winchester's Sheriff's Department. Mind putting down your weapon?"

There's a tense moment when the old man doesn't react. Then he shrugs, spits onto the ground, and tucks the shotgun under his arm. He gestures with his now free hand before saying, "come on if you're coming," and turns around to walk towards his house.

Jared lets out a breath, and he and Jensen share a bemused look. "Eccentrics," Jared mutters.

"You love it." They climb off the boat, and Jensen takes the lead, keeping himself between Jared and the darkened door Beaver disappeared through. He doesn't necessarily think the old man is going to pull something, but instinct tells him to not secure his holster just yet.

The interior of the house is neat, if a bit barren. There are a few pictures on the walls, mostly of pastoral scenes, but no photographs or real knickknacks to speak off. Jensen follows the sounds of Beaver puttering through the living room and towards the entryway to a kitchen.

"I ain't much on social graces, but I think I remember how this goes. You fellas want anything?" Beaver asks, a carafe of coffee in one hand an a chipped mug in the other.

"No thank you," Jared says. "We just have a couple of questions and then we'll be outta your hair."

Beaver takes off his hat. "Son, I ain't had hair for close to two decades. Now, why don't you tell me why the hell you're disturbing my peaceful existence?"

Jensen coughs into his fist. "Sir, yesterday a Fish and Game official was attacked and killed on the lake. Since you and Mr. Williams are the only residents out here, we thought we'd ask if either of you have seen or experienced anything... odd, lately?"

Beaver's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, _attacked_?"

"Just what it sounds like," Jensen says. "He was attacked."

"By what?"

"That's what we're trying to ascertain, Mr. Beaver," Jared says. "And why we're asking if you've noticed anything unusual in or around the lake?"

Beaver stares at Jared for close to a minute before he says, "nope. Can't say as I have. Been the same around here as always."

Over the course of his decade wearing a badge, Jensen's dealt with enough people trying to get away with stuff to know a liar when he sees one. "That right?" he asks, injecting a good amount of disbelief into his tone.

Beaver's gaze swings around to him. "Yeah, _that's right_ ," he says mockingly.

"Uh huh." Jensen eases back on his heels. "And would Mr. Williams have the same answer?"

"Since I'm not him, I wouldn't rightly know, now would I?"

"Getting a little testy, Mr. Beaver?" Jensen waves off Beaver's sure-to-be acidic response. "Is Mr. Williams around?"

"No, he ain't." Beaver crosses his arms over his chest. "And I'd appreciate it if you two _fine gentlemen_ would get the hell out of my house."

Jensen feels Jared lightly touch his elbow, but he brushes it off. Beaver's sweating, and there's blood in the water. " _Your_ house? So, Mr. Williams doesn't live here anymore?"

"I didn't say that."

"Then where is he?"

"Around."

"Around where?"

"Just... around."

"And he's coming back..."

"Later."

"This afternoon?"

"No. Maybe."

"Uh huh. And where did he go?"

"Out. He's just... out."

"When's he gonna be back?"

"He's not!" Beaver's brain catches up to his mouth. He points a shaking finger at Jensen. "You're an asshole."

"Yep, I am," Jensen says. "Why isn't Mr. Williams coming back?

Beaver's eyes are slits in his craggy face. "Because the man's been dead for almost two years."

Jensen exchanges a quick glance with a perplexed Jared. "My department doesn't have any record of that."

"Ain't that a shame. Nothing pisses me off more than incomplete record keeping."

Jensen scowls, but before he can say anything untoward, Jared steps in and asks, "I'm sorry, Mr. Beaver, but what was the cause of your friend's death? Was he ill? Was he sick? Was he-"

"Swallowed?" Jensen lets out a tiny grunt as Jared's rather pointy elbow connects with his ribcage.

"Sir," Jared says, "the man who was attacked yesterday, he was killed by some kind of... animal. Do you know how your friend died?"

Beaver's eyes flit back and forth between the two officers for a moment before he says, "aw, hell." He puts his hat back on and pulls the brim low. "Yeah, I should know how he died. I killed the son-of-a-bitch."

Jensen blinks a few times. "You... did what?"

"Steve had a whole slew of health problems," Beaver says with what looks like real sorrow etched onto his face. "First it was his lungs, then his joints, then it was the stomach pain. But it was when his mind started to go that he made me promise to end things if it ever got too bad."

"Why didn't you take him to the hospital?"

"The only one he could afford to go to is the VA, and the nearest one of those is all the way in Augusta. 'Sides, he was convinced that all of his problems were caused by the government and all the Agent Orange he got exposed to back in 'Nam." Beaver squares his shoulders and fixes both younger men with a steely gaze. "He wanted to die here, in his home. So, after one of his really bad days, I... hit him over the head with my grandpappy's cast iron skillet, and I buried him by the bulkhead." He glares at Jensen who's pinching the bridge of his nose, like that could actually ward off the migraine that's forming. "You gonna arrest me, Columbo?"

_____________

 

"Shouldn't you arrest him?" Jared asks as he pilots away from Beaver's house and towards the area a few miles away from the main dock where Jensen's deputies are making camp.

"Probably," Jensen says, shrugging. "But hell if I'm gonna do it now. I'll put in a request for a sate forensics team to come out and uncover the body. Honestly, the old guy's probably more of a danger to himself than anyone else. Besides, if I'm right, Mr. Williams was most likely receiving Social Security, and if his death wasn't property reported, then..."

"Those checks are still being mailed out," Jared says.

"And that's a federal matter." Jensen says with a grin. "It's all about delegating."

"Ah." Jared shakes his head, but there's a smile on his face. For a few moments there's just the steady sound of the boat's motor and a few calls from distant birds, then Jared says, almost absently, "sure is calm out here. Peaceful."

"Yeah." Jensen closes his eyes and tilts his head up to the sun. If he wasn't going to soon start a hunt for some kind of carnivorous creature, he might be inclined to take a nap. "Our very own Lake Placid."

Jared hums. He sounds distracted.

Jensen opens his eyes and asks, "you okay?"

"Yeah," Jared says, "it's just... Do you see that?" He raises one long arm to point out across the water. There's something there, about one hundred yards away, bobbing on the surface. Jared steers the boat towards it.

Jensen narrows his eyes. "The hell? Looks like some kind of a branch." But as they draw closer he can see quite plainly that it definitely isn't a branch. It is organic, though. They pull up alongside the object, and Jensen gives Jared a heavy look before he reaches over and grabs one of the large antlers. His muscles strain and with a grunt he pulls the decapitated head of a mature moose into the boat. It lands with a wet squish.

"Christ," Jared says, crouching down. "It's fresh. Fish haven't even gotten the eyes yet."

Jensen's hand automatically rests on his service revolver as his eyes scan the still and tranquil surface. "Jared, whatever this is ate half of a full grown man yesterday morning, and then got hungry enough twenty-four hours later to go after a, what, eight hundred, nine hundred pound moose? What the hell are we dealing with here?"

Jared shakes his head and doesn't' answer. Instead, he asks a question of his own. "How many deputies have you got?"

_____________

 

When Jared and Jensen reach camp its already bustling with activity, all of which stops when Jared hauls the moose head out of the boat.

"Shit," Aldis says, followed quickly by, "I quit."

Jensen rolls his eyes. "Nobody's quitting." He turns to Chris. "Everything set up?"

"Malik and Alona are finishing up with the tents." He looks at Jared with only the slightest bit of animosity still lingering from the previous day. "We got most of your gear unpacked too."

"Thanks, man," Jared says flashing that day-glo grin of his. Chris' eyes widen for a brief second. Then he frowns and harrumphs his way across camp. Jared turns to Jensen. "I'm growing on him, I can tell."

"Hmm. Like a particularly tall strain of slime mold." Jensen sidesteps a swipe from one of Jared's massive paws. "All right, who doesn't have something to do?" He snorts as Aldis and Richard scurry off from one blink to the next, leaving a confused looking Travis in their wake.

Travis gingerly raised a hand. "Uh, me? I guess."

"Get one of the cameras out and take pictures of the head; make sure you get close-ups of the wound." Jensen watches the color drain from Travis' face. When he's pretty sure the guy's not going to faint or puke he says, "then take it away from camp and bury it. We don't want a decomp smell attracting any predators here."

"Right," Travis says, swallowing heavily, "that would be bad."

Jensen claps a hand on Travis' shoulder. "Get Aldis and Richard to help you."

Travis grins wickedly. "Thanks, Sheriff. Hey..." He cocks his head to one side, and his eyes go distant. "You guys hear that?"

Jensen looks to Jared, who shrugs, but a second later he picks up on an odd sound too. Now that he's listening for it, there's the distinctive thwapping of rotary blades.

"A helicopter?" Jensen raises an eyebrow and looks at Jared. "One of yours?"

"Hell," Jared says, snorting, "I had to beg, plead, and cajole with my boss just to get the damn boat." His eyes look up, panning the sky. "State boys, maybe?"

"Nope, not state," Jensen mummers as the chopper comes into view. Its a dull brown with fitted floats. They watch as it makes one circuit of the immediate area before descending towards the water. With its approach, Jensen can now see that what he thought was a drab brown is actually some sort of stylized design with the underside of the helicopter looking almost like scales.

"Interesting paint job," Jared says, frowning.

"Isn't it just." Jensen glances around at the small crowd of deputies that's grown around them. "Don't you all have things you need to be doing?" He cocks a pointed eyebrow, and when that doesn't work, he makes shooing motions with his hands. "Git," he says, as all but Chris reluctantly disperse.

"I'm good," Chris says in a tone that brooks no arguments. He clearly is going to have Jensen's back, whether Jensen wants him to or not.

Jensen rolls his eyes and ignores Jared's amused smile before turning his attention back to the helicopter.

It touches down by the shoreline. A minute later the pilot's door opens, and a rather disheveled looking man climbs out. When he sees Jensen and the others his face splits into a wide grin, and he hurries over to greet them.

"Hello! Gorgeous day, isn't it?" he says, breathing in deeply. He's only an inch or two shorter than Jensen, and the wildness of his hair pales in comparison to the wildness in his eyes. "And what a lake! Perfect. Just perfect." He claps his hands together. "Who do we have from Fish and Game?"

Jared raises both eyebrows and a hand. "Me."

The man nods but doesn't spare Jared more than a glance. He peers out into the water. "I can see the algae bloom coming in. The water looks almost stagnant. Misha Collins, pleasure to meet you. I need topographic studies of the entire area." When no one immediately jumps at his request he turns back and stares at them with his startlingly blue eyes. "Sometime soon would be nice," he says slowly with more than a hint of condescension. "We might have time for a quick scout."

Jensen shakes his head. He can't help feeling that there was a large chunk of conversation that was missing. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

The man's head tilts to one side as he studies Jensen. "I see this county doesn't require an I.Q. test for its civil servants. Misha Collins; I said it once, let me know when it sinks in."

Jensen's mouth gapes, and he can feel Chris and Jared bristle. Before any of them can say anything the man continues blithely on, like he didn't just insult a lawman.

"Have you seen it?" Collins asks, face bright with undisguised curiosity and glee.

Jensen pulls himself together and growls out, "mister, if you don't tell me what your purpose is here I am going to arrest you."

Collins scoffs. "On what grounds."

"Pissing me the hell off. It's a small town; I can get away with shit like that."

"He really can," Chris adds.

"Hmm." Collins eyes blatantly track up and down Jensen's body. He licks his lips. "Feisty. I like it."

Jensen doesn't know whether to shoot the bastard or go home and take a long shower.

Jared clears his throat, and in a stern voice asks, "your purpose?"

"Oh, yes," Collins says, his eyes clearing. "I'm here to help you find it."

Again, Jensen knows he's missed something. "Find what?"

Collins grins. "The crocodile, of course."

_____________

 

"Yeah... Uh huh... That's just peachy, Traci," Jensen says into his new phone. He's pacing along the edge of camp, keeping one eye on Jared - who's having his own phone conversation - and the other on the lunatic unpacking his helicopter. "Well, I don't care if you like him; the guy's obviously nuts... No, no, I don't want you coming out here... Yeah... Fine... Okay." He closes his phone and resists the urge to pound his head against the nearest sturdy-looking tree.

"That sucked," Jared says, closing his own phone and slipping it into his pocket.

"What did your boss say?" Jensen asks.

"You mean after he stopped laughing?" Jared sighs. "If I can give him definitive proof, he'll call in the federal guys from Florida, but he's refused to give me access to any of our more advanced sonar equipment." He frowns and agitatedly runs a hand through his hair. "If, _if_ , it is a crocodile than it's going to have to come on land at some point. I guess our best bet will be to look for tracks."

"You do know there's over one-hundred miles of shoreline here, right?"

Jared's shoulders slump. "I'm not doing anything for the next few months. What did Traci have to say?"

Jensen closes his eyes and prays for serenity. "She and Mr. Whack-job met at a retreat in Sri Lanka a few years ago. His dayjob is a mythology professor, but he spent most of their time together regaling her with stories about how he travels all over the world to swim with crocodiles."

Jared's eyebrows go up. "Swim with them?"

"Like I said, whack-job."

"Actually," Collins says, having sneaked up on them like some damn cat, "I prefer Misha. And did Traci also tell you that I'm considered an expert in my field?"

"Yeah," Jensen says grudgingly, "she did."

Collins holds holds out his hands and puts on what he probably considers a placating expression. "Look, I understand your reluctance to trust me. I don't agree with it, and I think you're both being incredibly narrow-minded and stupid, but I understand. It's hard for people who aren't that intelligent to-"

"Hey!"

"Excuse me?"

"At least the two of you are pretty," Collins says. "Who needs to be smart when you have good bone structure, right?"

"I'm gonna shoot him," Jensen says.

"Jensen," Jared chides, "think of the paperwork. Mr. Collins-"

"Misha."

"Whatever, we appreciate any expertise you might bring to the table, but what makes you so sure that what we're dealing with here is a crocodile?"

"The tooth," Misha says simply. "It's crocodilian. No ifs, ands or buts about it. Gentlemen, somewhere in or around this lake is an extremely, _extremely_ , large reptile. They've been migrating north, you know, and this lake does connect to the ocean; it's not as far-fetched as it may sound."

"Then why don't we hear about them in any of the mid-Atlantic states?"

"There have been confirmed Alligator reports as far north as Virginia. And the only real difference between alligator and crocodile habitat is the type of water they prefer." Misha shrugs. "Just because there are no news reports about them doesn't mean they aren't there. Crocodiles are the ultimate stealth predators. Most of the time they're only seen when humans know specifically what to look for, or if they come out of the water to grab something. And even then, attacks generally only last-"

"Seconds," Jensen says faintly. He can't help thinking of the various nature specials he's watched over the years, of the classic image of a Nile croc snatching some poor gazelle or impala right off the banks of the river. Jensen wonders, when he was leaning over the side of the boat calling for Abel, if he could have been snatched just as easily. He clears his throat, shoves his shaking hands into the pockets of his jeans, and ignores the look of concern on Jared's face. "Okay," he says, injecting a false bravado into his voice, "then how could it survive the winter? This isn't exactly a tropical climate."

"As long as their nostrils don't freeze, they survive," Misha says. "That's what they are, gentlemen - survivors. Crocodiles have barely changed in the last million years. The animals that we see today are the exact same ones proto-humans saw five hundred thousand years ago. Think about that for a minute."

Jensen doesn't want to think about it.

"Look," Misha says, his tone turning conciliatory, "I believe we could have a mutually beneficial relationship. I couldn't help but glance at some of the equipment you've brought with you. It sucks. But, then, you two do work for the government, so I wouldn't expect any different. I, on the other hand, am independently wealthy - family money, you see - and I can afford the best kind of toys. Toys that I would be more than willing to share with you, if I'm allowed to stay."

Jensen has to admit, having access to state-of-the-art technology would go a long way towards excusing most of Collins' jackass-ish tendencies. It's not officially his call, but when he looks at Jared he can almost see the same thoughts running through the other man's head. Jared quirks his eyebrows at him, and Jensen slightly inclines his head. Jared nods.

"Fine," Jared says, "but this is not your operation. You're here in an advisory capacity only. You listen to me, or Jensen, and if you step one inch out of line, one of Jensen's deputies will be escorting you to the county lockup. That clear?"

"Crystal." Misha grins. "Would now be a good time to tell you how much I enjoy a forceful man?"

"No."

_____________

 

Twenty minutes later Jensen is regretting not shooting Misha's helicopter down at first sight. He's sitting in a canoe - a freakin' _canoe_ \- with Aldis, paddling out to show Jared and Misha - in their own canoe - the scene of yesterday's attack. Jensen's not entirely certain how he got into such a predicament, but he does know it's all Misha's fault with his twisted logic and fancy sonar equipment that he claims doesn't work as well in a motor boat.

"For the record," Aldis says, sounding as nervous and twitchy as Jensen feels, "I'm not entirely comfortable with this."

"Oh, and I am?" Jensen says. "Shut up and keep paddling; we're almost there."

"Would it ease your mind if I said crocodiles don't usually attack boats?" Misha says.

" _Usually_?" Aldis' voice is unpleasantly high.

"Well, there are always aberrations." Misha grins. "That's what makes life interesting, don't you think?"

"Interesting," Jensen says, "right. You've been in the running for a Darwin Award, haven't you?"

For a moment Misha looks even sketchier than normal, then his face clears and he says, "if he's close, we'll find him." He fiddles with the sonar equipment in his lap. "Their signatures are unmistakable."

"That's great," Jared says, "and what are we supposed to do then?"

"Do? Nothing. But we'll have confirmation. Wait, stop!" Misha peers closely at his equipment's screen while holding one hand up to the bud in his ear. "I thought I heard something." After a long, tense moment he shakes his head. "Let's keep going."

"Actually," Jensen says, looking around, "it was right around here that the attack happened."

"You okay?" Jared asks him.

"Yeah, it's just..." Jensen scowls, and shrugs, and wishes he could shake off this feeling of doom that's settled over him.

"You came close to a full realization of your own mortality here," Misha says with surprising empathy.

Jensen takes a deep breath. "Yeah. And now I'm back. In a _canoe_."

Misha shakes his head. "Like I said, the risks of an attack while we're in a boat are-"

"Guys," Aldis interrupts, "what the hell is that?" He's pointing towards some activity on the surface of the lake. About one hundred yards from their canoes there's a spot where the water is rippling, almost dancing.

"They're white perch," Jared says. "I can't tell... They're feeding? Maybe?"

Misha's looking at his screen. "I wouldn't be too sure about that."

Jensen has his mouth open, ready to ask Misha just what the hell he meant by that, when his canoe rocks. He grabs onto the edges and barely has enough time to share a terrified glace with Aldis before the boat flips, dumping them both into the water.

The shock of it paralyzes Jensen for a moment. He opens his eyes, sure to see death's toothy grin coming towards him. There's nothing there, though, just the general murk of the water. He turns himself around and, with legs kicking, moves towards the filtered daylight shining down form the surface. He comes up beside the overturned canoe, and immediately reaches out to grab hold. Jared is yelling at him to climb onto the hull, and Misha is yelling to keep his legs still.

He doesn't see Aldis.

"Shit!" Jensen takes a deep breath and is about to go under - it might be futile, but he has to _try_ to find him - when Aldis pops up a few feet from him. He looks as petrified as Jensen feels.

"C'mon, man," Jensen says, holding out his hand. "Don't think about it, just swim to me."

"Will you," Jared yells, "God, just get on the fucking hull!"

Jared sounds frantic, and Jensen can't blame him, but he and Aldis are going to climb up together. When Aldis is within reach, Jensen grabs his hand and together they scramble up onto the bottom of the canoe. Jensen rests his forehead on Aldis' shoulder, and he know his own shoulder is probably going to have fingerprint shaped bruises from the strength with which Aldis is gripping him. They're both shaking.

"I changed my mind," Jensen says quietly, "you can quit if you want to."

"What, and miss all this excitement?"

"In my defense," Misha calls out, "I did say there were aberrations."

Jensen has just enough energy to give him the finger.

_____________

 

Jensen's just finished changing into a dry pair of jeans and a tee-shirt when Sam Ferris finds him.

"Sheriff," she says solemnly, "Alona's got something you should see."

He signs and stretches out his back and shoulders. Nearly getting eaten twice in two days is starting to take its toll. "I don't suppose it's a trained masseuse with a year's supply of Valium?"

"Uh, no. It's..." Sam's face twists up into a mask of disgust. "Just come on. Jared and the crazy guy are already there."

Jensen, knowing that whatever he's going to see is bad if it's gotten no-nonsense Sam riled up, follows without further commentary. They walk out past camp and down the shore. Every few feet Jensen's eyes can't help but flit out over the water. After a few minutes Sam starts to head inland again to a grassy patch where Jared, Misha, and several of Jensen's deputies are gathered.

Jensen nods his greetings and receives a few claps on the back, including one from Jared that lingers slightly longer than the others.

"Glad you're okay," the big man murmurs.

Jensen feels his cheeks start to heat up. He clears his throat. "So, what have we got?"

Alona motions to something on the ground, and Jensen crouches down to get a better look. It takes him a moment to realize that what he's looking at is part of a human toe.

"There are some signs of decomposition and acidity," Misha says. "It's definitely been swallowed. It's part of series of droppings."

"Droppings? You've collected some?" Jensen asks Jared, who nods. "Can't we definitively tell what this thing is now?"

"Yeah," Jared says, "eventually. But DNA testing take weeks. Not to mention how expensive it is."

"In other words we're not going home just yet." Jensen stands and looks towards Alona. "Bag the toe," he says. "And from now on, no one goes anywhere alone. I don't care if it's the middle of the night and you have to take a piss, you partner up. Got it?" He's using his best authoritative voice and it's heartening to see even Jared and Misha nodding along.

_____________

 

The sun has just drifted below the trees and Jensen is arguing with Aldis. The toe and poop that were found need to be taken into town and sent to the proper labs. Jensen had figured that, considering what had happened earlier that afternoon, Aldis would have jumped at the chance to get back to civilization. He was wrong.

"So, what, you think I can't hack it?" Aldis asks, arms folded across his chest, standing beside one of the county trucks.

"What? No! I think you had a traumatic experience, and I'm-"

"Forgetting that you were right beside me for that _traumatic experience_ , and that you had a _traumatic experience_ of your very own yesterday too? You're one up on all of us, so how come I'm the one being sent home?"

"Oh, for..." Jensen scrubs his hand through his hair in frustration. "Jesus Christ, I'm trying to be nice here! Will you just let me be caring and considerate for once, 'cause it don't happen that often."

Aldis snorts. "Please. You're such a toasted marshmallow."

"Pardon?"

"All crusty and hard on the outside, but nothing but sweet, warm gooeyness on the inside." Aldis looks entirely too smug for his own good. "Toasted marshmallow. Ask anybody."

"Forget quitting; you're fired," Jensen says.

Before Aldis can retaliate, a laugh startles them both. Jared's leaning against a nearby tree, obviously amused and enjoying himself.

Jensen scowls. His relationship with the now easy-going Game Warden has obviously come a long way from the contention filled first meeting, but he still doesn't like the idea of the other man finding him _soft_. "Aldis," he growls out, "get your ass in the truck."

"Fine. But, I'm coming back tomorrow morning." Satisfied that he's had the final word on the situation, Aldis climbs into the cab and starts the engine.

"You know," Jared says coming up to stand beside Jensen, "you _could_ have gone with him. Get a good night's sleep in a real bed. Take a nice, long shower."

"Is that your less than subtle way of telling me I stink?"

"Hey, I'm a Fish and Game officer; I don't mind the smell of _Eau De Lake Water_. But Aldis was right. You've had a rough two days and there's nothing wrong with taking a night off. Chris and I can handle things here."

Jensen purses his mouth and thinks of the best way to phrase what he wants to say. "While I appreciate the offer," he says, "and the tact with which it was presented, I'm gonna be here for as long as my men are here. And that's that."

Jared studies him for a moment, then nods.

"And for the record, my insides are not warm and gooey."

Jared's smile has a bit of an edge to it. "How about sweet?"

Jensen blinks. "Uh... You hear something?"

Instantly, all possibly flirtations are gone, and Jared's on alert. "What, like an animal?"

"No, like..." Jensen scrunches up his face. "Like Tom Jones."

_____________

 

As Jensen and Jared make their way back to camp, specifically the section that Misha claimed as his own, the music gets louder and more defined.

 _"It's not unusual to be loved by anyone..._ "

"Yep," Jared says, "that's Tom Jones."

Jensen shakes his head and quickens his stride as he rounds a copse of trees. "What the hell is going-" His complaint cuts off with a yelp as he finds himself teetering at the edge of deep hole. The only thing that saves him from what would surely be a painful headfirst tumble is Jared's strong, heavy hand on his shoulder. Jensen sputters a bit as Jared puts his other hand at Jensen's waist and drags him back from the edge. The perpetually shallow part of Jensen's brain takes note of easily Jared maneuvered him. The rest of his brain tells that part to shut up; he needs to be angry, not smitten, right now.

Rob Benedict and Travis are standing in the large, deep hole, shovels in hand. The looks on their faces are an interesting mix of guilt and fear.

"It's a trap," Rob says.

"Not for you!" Travis says quickly. "Its for the crocodile."

"Hey, at least we know it works." Rob shrugs.

Jensen closes his eyes and silently counts to ten. When he opens his eyes his men's expressions have lost the guilt, and tipped over into complete fear. Jensen doesn't want to closely analyze anything, but that does make him feel a tiny bit better.

"And who, pray tell, directed you to do such a thing?"

"Misha," Rob says.

"He paid us," Travis adds.

Jensen rolls his eyes then asks, "how much?"

"Five hundred bucks."

Jensen stares at Rob who still looks fearful, but now also looks a little smug. "Seriously? Damn. Fine, give the man his money's worth, but no more moonlighting you hear me?" He nods at the chorus of 'yessirs'. "And put up some signs or something so us non-crocodiles don't break our necks."

"We need his equipment," Jared immediately says when Jensen turns to him.

Jensen grunts and shoves him back a little bit so he can sidestep the hole. He resumes his march towards Misha's tent. He spies Chris and Sam in the near distance settled around a campfire, and he vows to have a few words with them later.

"And we need him conscious and with full access to all his faculties to run said equipment," Jared continues, hurrying after him.

Jensen doesn't bother to answer, not when he's got Misha's tent in his sights. It's a huge, ostentatious, cabin-style affair big enough to easily fit six or seven full-sized adults. As Jensen watches shadows move on the other side of the canvas, he knows just who those six or seven other adults are.

"Son of a bitch," he mutters, pushing through the unzipped flap. What he finds inside is very much a party atmosphere, but at least everyone still seems to have their pants on.

"Hey!" Jensen growls.

"Hey!" everyone jovially parrots back to him.

Jensen can feel his blood pressure spike. He stalks over to Misha's iPod and disconnects the speakers. His deputies groans are cut off when they realize just how pissed he is.

Malik sheepishly raises a hand in greeting. "Hey, Jen, we were just... uh..."

"Making merry!" Misha cries, wrapping a companionable arm around Richard's shoulders. Richard, for his part, makes his eyes very wide and mimes a crazy sign next to Misha's head.

"Anyone who is not a pain-in-my-ass crocodile expert, get the hell out. Now." Jensen levels his best glare at the men and women under his command and is grateful when they all file out without fuss. "Oh, and watch where you step!" He turns towards Misha, a scowl firm on his face. "This isn't a party, Mr. Collins."

"But now that you're here..." Misha smiles brightly, but when he sees it has no effect on Jensen's countenance he says, "if I promise to replace it with something more pleasant, do you think you could pull that stick out of your ass?"

Jensen suddenly finds himself standing behind Jared, who's looming rather menacingly over Misha. "You need to show him some respect," Jared says, "or have you already forgotten how precarious your position is here?"

Feeling at once both pleased and annoyed at Jared once again stepping in to protect him, Jensen places a calming hand on the small of Jared's back. "We need him with enough of his faculties to run his equipment, remember?" he says softly.

"Fancy equipment aside," Jared says, not letting his gaze waver from Misha, "you're here because I'm allowing you to be here. You might want to keep that in mind and alter your behavior accordingly."

Misha, obviously showing that he has _some_ sense of self-preservation, takes a few steps backwards. He cocks his head to one side and lets his big, blue eyes travel from Jared to Jensen and back again. "Ah. I understand. My apologies, Officer Padalecki. It won't happen again. As for the party, crocodiles are very brazen. They like to come on land and are attracted to noise."

"So, you _want_ it to come into our camp?" Jensen asks.

"It would be easier if we could get it to come to us, yes" Misha says. "I, along with the help of your fine, outstanding men and women, have set traps up along the perimeter. If it comes in here, we'll catch it."

"Which would be great," Jensen says, "unless it manages to eat one of us first."

Misha puts his hands on his hips and huffs out a breath. "Why are you such a pessimist? You've managed to survive two encounters with it."

"Yeah, and the third time's the charm, right?" Jensen asks, his voice bone dry.

"I agree with Jensen," Jared says, sounding more like his usual, non-homicidal, self. "This kind of activity stops."

"Fine. No more parties."

"Good." Jared seems mollified. He motions at Jensen to proceed him out of the tent.

Jensen narrows his eyes and tries not to feel rankled at the subtle order. He walks out and, bypassing Chris and Sam who are still chatting at their fire, heads down to the lake. He stays above the rocky shoreline, not wanting to get too close to the actual water. He can hear Jared, who has the stealth of a rampaging moose, coming up behind him.

"I'm sorry," Jared says.

"For what?"

"I know I kind of pulled rank back in there. It's just... the guy was acting like a presumptuous ass. He should, you know, respect you."

Jensen can feel some of his ire drain away and then the rest disappears completely as Jared actually scuffs the ground with the toe of his boot. Jensen's not sure if he's ever seen anything that adorable in real life. "I don't think Misha has a lot of respect for anything," he says. "Except, maybe his beloved crocodiles." Jensen fidgets a bit, then asks the question that's been gnawing away at him for a while now. "Jared, why didn't it eat us? Me and Aldis? Why did it let us go?"

Jared's eyes widen. He reaches out and puts a hand high on Jensen's shoulder. Jensen can feel Jared's thumb brush against the skin just above his collar. "Honestly? I don't know. It had a full-sized moose just this morning, remember? It probably wasn't hungry yet."

"Yeah," Jensen says, letting himself slightly lean into Jared's touch. "Maybe." He huffs out a laugh. "Or maybe it can sense that I'd taste bad."

"Oh," Jared says, his grip tightening and his voice drifting dangerously close to purr territory, "I don't know about that."

Jensen can feel his body moving towards Jared. He's _gravitating_ towards the other man, but instead of stopping it, Jensen's lifting his head up, positioning himself to be kissed.

A loud yelp has them both jumping away from each other. From the distance they hear Richard say, "I'm okay. Fell in a hole."

Jensen's shoulders slump. "Fucking Misha."

Jared has the nerve to chuckle a bit. "I'll go see how Rob and Travis are doing with those signs." He turns away, but not before giving Jensen a wink.

A _wink_

Jensen scrubs a hand through his hair and decides then and there that if the crocodile doesn't kill him, Jared just might.

_____________

 

Morning comes and they're back out on the lake. Jensen's piloting the boat this time, and he is most decidedly not happy. "I don't see why you both have to go into the water," he says as Travis and Sam assist Jared and Misha with their wetsuits.

"Two sets of eyes will be better than one," Jared says in a blatantly patient tone that sets Jensen's teeth on edge. "If any of your deputies were certified divers, they'd be suiting up too."

"Thank God I take my vacations to Montreal and not the Caribbean," Travis mutters.

"We're not exactly going to our deaths, here," Misha says. "Crocs don't attack underwater."

"Excuse me?!" Jensen turns his head and fixes Misha with an incredulous look. "Then what do you call what happened to Jake Abel? Wait, let me guess, it was an _aberration_."

"Yes," Misha says, "it was. Crocodiles don't see that well underwater. They have these nictitating membranes over their eyes. It protects them from irritants, but it blurs their vision."

"So, Abel was just unlucky."

"Yes, Mr. Abel was extremely unlucky."

"He also had no idea he was in danger," Jared says. "But we know the risks, and I'm prepared." He holds up a long, silver cylinder with a handle on one end. He then proceeds to affix a bullet to the other end and finishes by placing a cap over the tip. "Bang stick," he says.

"Yeah," Jensen says, "I know what it is. I also know that's a direct contact weapon. In order to make that work, the damn thing'll have to be right up on you."

"This is insurance, Jensen," Jared says. "That's all."

"So, why don't you have one of those things?" Travis asks Misha. "Or a tranq gun, or something?"

Misha smiles. "Because I have a little more faith in the natural order of things than our dear Officer Padalecki. Besides, if you tranq a crocodile underwater he'll drown."

"Would that be such a bad thing?" Jensen mutters. He can practically feel Misha's eyes glaring at the back of his neck. "We don't even know where he is, if he's in the same spot, or if he's moved on," Jensen says. "This could just be a colossal waste of time."

"That's why I brought this," Misha says, patting the black box in his lap. He opens it up to reveal a laptop, and with a few keystrokes a squeaking sound fills the air. "This will be piped through to the speaker you'll be placing underwater. The sound will travel, and we should expect a quick response once he hears it."

"What the hell is it?" Sam asks.

"The cries of distressed hatchlings," Misha says.

"They eat their own kind?"

"The large ones eat almost anything."

"Jen," Jared says, "let's stop here. Travis, would you mind putting down the anchor?"

Misha hands his laptop and the speaker over to Sam. "Wait until we're down there, then click play." He looks at Jared, and they both pull down their facemasks and put in their mouthpieces. Without any fanfare, they flip themselves backwards over the side of the boat and quickly disappear from view. Jensen counts off thirty seconds in his head then motions to Sam. She starts the program and slowly lowers the speaker into the water.

"So, what, we just wait?" Travis asks.

"And keep our eyes peeled," Jensen says moving to the bow of the boat and scanning the surface of the water. "You two have watched _Animal Planet_ or _Nature_ or whatever. You know what a partially submerged croc looks like, right? If either of you see anything that looks like two eyes, or a floating log, call out." He hears Sam and Travis' affirmatives, but he doesn't take his eyes off the lake.

Minutes pass. Five, then ten, and there's nothing.

"Maybe it's not even in the water," Sam says. "Should we radio Chris or Malik; check in with the land teams?"

Jensen's about to say yes just to give them something to break the monotony when, with a sickening sense of deja vu, the boat rocks. Except this isn't a little, dinky canoe. This is a good-sized, substantial whaler.

"The hell was that?" Travis asks.

The boat moves again, a couple of feet this time, and Sam says, "holy shit! It's the anchor line. Something's got the anchor."

Just as the words come out of her mouth the boat _jerks_ with enough force and momentum to send Jensen sprawling against the side. The edge of the railing catches his knees and, once again, Jensen's sent ass over teakettle into the water.

Jensen's only under for a moment, then he's breaking the surface, gasping for air, and watching _something_ tow the boat halfway across the lake as Sam and Travis scream. It stops as quickly as it took off.

"Jensen," Sam calls out, "hang tight. We're coming to get you."

But they don't. Jensen can see Sam and Travis at the controls, but the boat's not moving yet, and if he wasn't scared out of his ever-lovin' mind he'd be really fucking pissed.

"It's the engine," Sam yells. "It won't start. We're trying; just hold on!"

"'S fine," Jensen says softly through chattering teeth. "No problem. Take your fucking time." He has to keep treading water, kicking his legs, but he tries to keep his movements smooth, economical. "It can't see me," he says. "It can't see when it's underwater, so it can't see me. Keep breathing. It can't see me." He keeps his eyes trained on the whaler, but something else draws his attention. There, in a space between him and the boat, the water starts to dance.

"God," Jensen says. "Please, God, no."

The roar of the boat's motor cuts through the air just like the hull starts to cut through the water. They're coming for him, and as Jensen watches them draw closer, he just hopes they'll get to him first. Travis is already hanging over the edge, arm outstretched, ready to grab him. And Jensen needs to get out of the water now, _now_ because there's something beneath him. He can feel it. There's something underneath him and coming closer, and when the boat pulls alongside him he reaches up with both arms. Travis grabs one and Sam grabs the other, and all three pull him up. Just as his feet leave the water, he feels something come up behind him.

It's Jared. Jared, bobbing up like a cork and scaring everyone half to death. He spits out his mouthpiece and starts babbling questions, but Jensen's only concern is getting him the hell out of the water. He lets Sam help Jared get unhooked from his scuba gear, but he keeps a tight hold on Jared's forearm. When he's free from all the extra weight, Jensen and Travis haul him into the boat.

For a moment all Jensen does is cling to Jared's arm.

"What happened?" Jared asks, running a hand over Jensen's forehead.

"Something grabbed the anchor. Boat got pulled. Fell overboard."

"Again?"

"Shut up. Where's Misha?"

"I don't know. We went in separate directions; I lost track of him."

"Look, over there," Sam fires up the engine and steers the boat towards a small grouping of bubbles. Misha appears, and she brings the boat alongside him.

"Did you see it?" Are the first words out of Misha's mouth as Jared and Jensen scramble to get him in the boat. "I saw it! Did you see it?" He blinks at Jensen. "And why are you wet?"

"You saw it?" Jared says. "What did it look like? How big is it?"

"I just saw a shadow, but it's big." Misha chortles, like having a mutant croc swim past him is the highlight of his existence. "Pretty damn, fucking big." His face morphs from glee to horror. "Oh, Jesus, is the speaker still going? Pull up the damn speaker!"

"Travis, get the speaker up!" Jensen calls out. He and Jensen finally manage to pull Misha over the side, scuba gear and all, but before he can take a breath Sam is...

Screaming.

Sam never screams.

Jensen spins around just in time to catch Travis from going overboard. He grabs him by the back of his belt and wonders why he's shaking so erratically, why he isn't helping to keep himself in the boat. Jared is beside him in an instant, and he gets a handful of Travis' shirt. Together they haul him upright and keep his body from going into the water. Not that it matters, since Travis was dead the second his head was torn off.

_____________

 

Jensen would really love to have five minutes to himself to either cry or vomit - or possibly do both - but he can't. He's the Sheriff, and one of his deputies is dead, and another is almost catatonic, and he has responsibilities, dammit.

He watches, almost dispassionately, as the EMTs load most of Travis into the back of an ambulance. One of them, Mark, comes up to him after the body's secure. He's got a clipboard in his hand and an apologetic look on his face.

"Sorry, mate," Mark says, "but I've got a couple questions before we take him to Traci."

Jensen nods. "'Course."

"Do you know the cause of death?"

"I'm pretty sure it was getting his goddamn head ripped off, Mark." Jensen shakes his head. "Sorry. I'm... Put down animal attack."

Mark looks doubtful. "Are you sure you-"

"Just... Animal attack."

"All right. And..." If it's possible, Mark looks even more distressed. "The head... I don't suppose-"

"If we find it, we'll let you know." Not that they will. Find it, that is. Jensen knows that if poor Travis' head isn't in some creature's gullet, it's at the bottom of the lake. Either way, it's lost, and how the hell is he supposed to explain this to the kid's parents? "Mark, I would greatly appreciate if you could keep this on the Q.T. At least until I notify Travis' family."

Mark looks pained. "Odds are the news has already leaked. More than a few people are mighty interested in what's going on out here, and we both know Cassidy has a police scanner."

Jensen winces. He had forgotten about Katie. He's going to have to bite the bullet and try and talk her down before she runs a special edition that'll probably scare everyone into an early grave. "Just..." He claps Mark on the shoulder. "Try your best, okay?"

"No promises," Mark says, "but I'll see what I can do."

Jensen nods his thanks, then turns away - he doesn't need to see the ambulance leave. Chris is waiting for him.

"Don't ask if I'm okay," Jensen warns.

"Wasn't gonna," Chris says, more subdued than Jensen's ever seen him.

"How's Sam?"

"Not that great."

"Take me to her?"

_____________

 

Sam's sitting on the back of one of the pick-ups. She's got a blanket around her and a mug of something hot clutched in her hands. Jared is beside her with his arm lightly resting across her shoulders.

"Hey," Jensen says softly. "I'm gonna take you back to town, okay?"

Sam struggles for a moment. She's proud and stubborn, but even the most stoic of peoples have their limits. "Okay. That's... okay. I need my things, I-"

"Okay, get your things," Jensen says. "Meet me at my truck." He watches as Sam squares her shoulders and walks towards her and Alona's tent with her head held high. After a moment's hesitation, and a silent, yet heartfelt conversation with Jensen, Chris follows her.

"Think she's gonna be okay?" Jared asks.

"Eventually," Jensen says. He scrubs a hand through his hair. "Look, I need to go in and... make the notifications to Travis' family. Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone."

Jared purses his lips. "Maybe you should stay in town."

"Saying that counts as stupid."

"I'm serious," Jared says, scowling. "U.S. Wildlife is on its way. Evidently, this was enough to get them interested. All we're gonna do is sit tight until they get here."

"Then I'll be coming back to sit tight with you." Jensen can see Jared working up to another argument, but a sharp yell has the both of them running towards the far side of camp. Jensen longs for the days when his conversations weren't interrupted by screaming.

They round a tall thicket, and what Jensen sees on the other side is going into his mental scrapbook. Chris is upside down, hanging by his ankle from a large tree while Misha solemnly stares up at him.

Jensen has heard the term 'gobsmacked' before but until now he's never had an occasion to experience it. "What the-"

"He stepped into a trap," Misha says.

"And, why haven't you gotten him down?" Jensen asks heatedly as Jared checks on Chris.

"Well, he has a... a certain look of homicidal mayhem on his upside down, purpley face."

Jared checks Chris' face and looks back at Jensen. He purses his mouth. "He kinda does."

"I don't care!" Jensen bellows. "Get him down now!"

"Will he promise not to hurt me?" Misha asks.

"Collins, I have no desire to even look at you," Chris grinds out.

"Okay," Misha exhales, "well, it's just a counter-weight. We can pull him down."

Jared and Jensen grab onto Chris' belt and pull him to the ground. Misha steps up and unwinds the rope from Chris' ankle, and Jensen helps Chris to his feet. The smaller man sways for a moment, then lunges towards Misha.

Misha lets out a yelp and takes off through the trees. Chris follows, stopping only to pick up a rather substantial tree limb along the way.

"Chris," Jensen calls out as he's taking chase, "you can't kill him! We need him to work the sonar!"

Jensen can feel and hear Jared close behind him as the strange group weaves between trees and through the underbrush. They come out of the forest a few hundred yards down the lake. Chris is steadily advancing on Misha, who's obviously torn between the carnivorous creature living in the water and the homicidal deputy on shore.

"Goddammit, Christian, now is not the fucking time for this shit!" Jensen says. "Will you please act like the adult I _think_ you might be."

"Guys..." Jared's voice sounds odd.

"Oh, I'll act like an adult, after I pound his smug, little face." Chris takes another, threatening step forward.

"Guys!" Jared says urgently.

"Jared," Jensen says, turning towards him, "I'm trying to diffuse a-" With a start Jensen realizes what's gotten Jared so riled. There, a little bit down the shoreline, staring at them in a rather unimpressed manner is the largest black bear he's ever seen. "I hate nature," Jensen says weakly. "Chris, Misha, if both of you would stop being idiots for a minute you might see that we're all about to get horribly mauled."

That stops the posturing.

"Holy shit."

"Oh, dear."

"Nobody move!" Jared says. "Black bears don't normally attack humans. We just have to get ourselves out of its territory." In a softer voice he says to Jensen, "get your weapon ready just in case."

Jensen nods and unsnaps his holster, hoping like hell he's not going to have to kill the damn thing.

"Okay," Jared says, "I want everybody to raise their arms above their head and wave them around. Good. And now I want everybody to start moving back the way we came. _Slowly_. Nobody even think about running."

Raising their arms didn't illicit any kind of response, but when Misha and Chris starts to move the bear rears up on its hind legs.

Jensen has his gun drawn and a bead on the bear's skull when something explodes out of the lake. It's the crocodile. Like a pre-historic nightmare, huge and horrible, big as a school bus. It surges out of the water, its jaws clamping down around the bear's middle.

Jensen barely registers Jared's arms around his stomach, pulling him back. All he can see is the carnage in front of him - the bear crying out, snapping at the croc, and the croc biting down harder. Then it drags the bear under, and the whole thing is over.

It lasts seconds. Seconds, and the only thing left on the shore are the four men.

"Okay," Jared says softly, "we need a bigger boat."

_____________

 

"The scales were oval, correct?" Misha asks, tapping away on his laptop.

"I was kind of paying attention to his teeth," Jensen says faintly. They're in Misha's tent, and he's sitting in some kind of ridiculous-looking, but really comfortable inflatable chair. Jared's hanging over Misha's shoulder, watching him research. Chris had been shaken enough by the experience that he'd volunteered to make the notifying call to Travis' family, and he'd gone back to town.

"Yeah," Jared says, "they were oval."

Misha hits a few more keys then says, "it's an Asian crocodile."

"Asian?" Jensen shakes his head. "What, was it a pet someone let loose? Or did it escape from somewhere, like a private zoo or something?"

"Those are two possibilities," Misha says.

"You think it came here on its own," Jared says slowly.

"That's another possibility. The larger the crocodile is, the older he is," Misha says, "and ours is at least thirty feet, correct."

"I'm thinking thirty-five," Jared says.

"The big ones have been on the move. I've been postulating that."

"But to move across an _ocean_ and a _continent_?" Jensen rubs at the bridge of his nose. "That's-"

"Theoretically possible." Misha glances at his laptop screen. "Not _probably_ , but possible. It could have started its journey over a hundred years ago. And at thirty five feet, there aren't a lot of things that would willingly mess with it."

"A hundred..." Jensen blinks. "How old can these things get?"

"No one really knows," Misha says. "The Irwins rescued a male freshwater back in nineteen seventy. It had been a sacred animal to a local aboriginal tribe for a hundred years, and it's lived at the Australian Zoo for the past thirty. Do the math. And I know its a different animal, but Aligator Snapping Turtles have been found with Civil War era musket balls embedded in their shells." Misha shrugs. "The only way to know for sure, is to cut them open and measure the lamellar growth rings in their bones and teeth."

"Well," Jensen says, "when it comes time, I'm sure Jared and I can make certain you're in on the necropsy."

Misha's face twists into an ugly sneer. "Of course. I should have guessed that the minute your back-country mind comes up against something it doesn't understand your immediate reaction is either _kill it_ , _stuff it_ , or _fuck it_ ,' because God forbid we try and treat this creature with-"

Jared starts his looming thing again. "What did I say about-"

"It _killed_ one of my deputies, Misha," Jensen says firmly, "and one of Jared's colleagues. Travis was... he was a good guy." Jensen takes a deep breath. "I know it was an accident, and I... I don't blame the crocodile for doing what comes naturally, but its existence here is a danger. I sympathize with your position, I truly do, but my first priority is the health and safety of the people of this county. Now, if this thing was confined to the lake, I'd say go for it. Bring in all the fancy equipment you could afford and take as long as you need. But crocodiles can travel over land, right? And who's to say that one day, while you're fiddling with your machines, it might decide to take off for greener, and more populated, pastures? Can you imagine that thing in a populated area? Can you?"

"He could be over a hundred years old, Jensen. Can _you_ imagine that? He might have started his journey before the first World War, hell before the turn of the last century. Think of all he's lived through."

"Like I said," Jensen says, "I sympathize."

Misha angrily shakes his head. He looks at Jared. "What about you?"

Jared looks uncomfortable. "This thing being here does have ecological significance, but I gotta side with Jensen on this one. If we could confine the croc to one area it would be different, but sooner or later this eco-system is not going to be able to support a creature this size, and you know it. And when that day comes he will go looking for more food."

Misha slumps into his chair. He's quiet and despondent for a moment, then he says, "what if there was a way we could capture it?"

"Capture it?!" Jensen says. "It... but... Misha, it ate a _bear_."

"Yes, Jensen, I know; I was there. We'll find it, and tranq it. I have enough with me to put it out."

"I thought you said you can't tranq a croc?"

"Underwater," Jared says. He gives Misha an inscrutable look. "You want to find its liar."

"Yeah, I do. It has to come out sometime. Two teams on the ground, me flying overhead. We can find it; I know we can."

"One team," Jared says. "We're not splitting up."

Misha smirks. "I apologize. I should have known better than to think the two of you would do something like that."

"Okay," Jensen says, trying to ignore Jared and his blush, "let's say you two manage to pull this off, and we catch the damn thing. What then, buy out all the duct tape in town to restrain it?"

"We keep it sedated until I figure out what to do with it," Misha says. "You know I think... I need to make a call, but I think someone I know has an empty tank in Portland. Worse comes to worse, I'll transport it to the swimming pool at my parent's place in the Hamptons. The important thing is, it'll be alive." Misha leaves his makeshift desk and kneels by the inflatable chair. He takes one of Jensen's hands into his own. "I know you think I'm just some rich, whack-job, fuck-wit who wouldn't know a sane thought if it landed in front me and started doing the _Cabbage Patch_ -"

"Keep going," Jensen says.

"And I know this is asking a lot, and I don't want to belittle your loss, but this _thing_ , here - in _Maine_ \- at thirty-five feet, it's... I believe in the natural order of things, and I don't bandy about the word miracle, but this might be the closest that we poor humans get to something truly wondrous."

Jensen stares into Misha's eyes, seeing earnestness where before there was only snark and sarcasm. He doesn't think of himself as a bleeding heart, and there are other crocodiles in the world, but Misha's right. Here, Lake Winchester, might be home to one of the biggest, the oldest. Killing it would be the easy solution, but it wouldn't be the right one. "How long do we have until the federal guys get here?" Jensen asks Jared.

"A day, maybe two."

"Fine. But, for the record, after this I refuse to feel guilty by a Humane Society ad ever again."

_____________

 

Jared had spent a good deal of the previous evening with Misha, absorbing as much as he could about the burrowing habits of crocodiles. Jensen had spent the time trying to convince his deputies that more good could be done by capturing the creature than by enacting bloody vengeance on it. Not all of them were convinced, and Jensen had said he didn't blame them.

Now, with the sun barely peeking over the treetops, Jared, Jensen, and their small group of volunteers take off with Misha in his helicopter. The plan is for Misha to look for a likely crocodile resting spot from the sky, then drop the others off to take a closer look on the ground. Malik, while not venturing out with them had offered, along with a newly returned Chris, to keep an eye on things back at camp.

Fifteen minutes into their trip Misha sets his chopper down at what Jensen thinks is an unremarkable section of shoreline.

"All right?" Misha asks Jared.

"All right," Jared says, grabbing his pack and tranq gun and hopping out of the chopper.

Jensen shares bewildered glances with Aldis and Alona, but the three of them grab their own packs and weapons and follow Jared.

"Keep in touch," Richard yells out from the seat next to Misha's before the helicopter lifts up to resume the air search.

Jared shoulders his pack and takes a good look around. "Step lightly, guys. It looks like he's come ashore here before. And remember, if my tranquilizers don't work and he's charging, you have my full authorization to shoot the bastard."

Jensen's fingers tighten around his rifle, and they begin to search the area. He has no idea what they're looking for - besides a giant-ass reptile - but Jared does, and watching him be all competent is a definite turn-on.

A few minutes later Jared shakes his head, and with a wave from his hand they're trekking into the woods. They follow the shoreline, but stay well back from the water. Misha and Richard check in several times. They haven't found anything either, but Misha still sounds optimistic, and Jensen keeps the second guessing to a minimum.

Several hot, tired, and mosquito filled hours later he's ready to call the whole thing off. He's also pretty sure, from their grumbling, that Alona and Aldis feel the same. Even Misha was sounding defeated when he'd radioed them a short while ago, warning that he had to visit the county airfield to refuel. This was a fool's errand, and it might be time to acknowledge that.

"Not to sound like a five-year-old on his first long car trip, but how much longer are we gonna do this?" Jensen asks, slapping at something on his neck.

Jared checks his watch and scratches at a bite on his own throat. "As soon as Misha's back in contact, we'll tell him to pick us up." He sighs. "I got all caught up in the possibility of saving this thing that I forgot the reality of our situation. It's just too much ground to cover. If we had more people, more time, better resources..."

Jensen bumps Jared's shoulder with his own. "I get you. At least we can say we tried."

"Yeah." Jared ducks his head. "Does it make me a bad environmentalist to say I'm kind of glad I won't have to face that thing again?"

"Pretty sure it just makes you sane. That thing is..." Jensen pauses and pulls a map out of his pocket. He studies it for a moment while doing some brief mental calculations. "You know, we should be close to Beaver's place. Might as well head over there and check on the old guy. Let him know what's lurking."

"Good idea," Jared says, "and by then I'm sure Misha will-"

Jared's comment about Misha cuts off abruptly as the sound of rustling leaves grabs everyone's attention. Weapons are up, ready, and pointed at a section of brush maybe fifteen feet away. It's so close; they're practically on top of it. There's another rustle, and some branches sway from the movement. Jared nervously glances at Jensen, then takes a few steps forward. The bushes stays still. He takes another step, and a furry brown body scampers out from the thicket and careens down towards the shore.

Jensen uses the hand not holding his rifle to clutch at his chest.

Aldis and Alona aren't faring much better.

"Fucking beavers," Alona wheezes.

"No, it's okay. I'm alright," Aldis says, putting a hand over his heart. "I didn't really need those ten years that just got scared off of me."

Jensen safeties his gun then turns to check on Jared. The big guy's bent over, staring at the ground. Jensen hopes he's not going to puke.

"Hey, man," he says, putting a steadying hand on Jared's shoulder. "You okay?"

Jared looks up, his face solemn, then points to the patch of ground he had been staring at.

Jensen's not quite sure how he had missed it, but maybe that's why he's a Sheriff and not a wildlife agent. There, in the soft ground in front of Jared, is a footprint. A _really_ big footprint.

"Jesus Christ." Jensen crouches down to get a better look. It's as big as his head and looks like it would be more at home in some fossilized rock in Utah or on the set of _Jurassic Park_.

"Aaaand I'm back to quitting," Aldis says.

"Well, until you get to a place where you can print out your resignation, how about you and Alona look for other tracks," Jared says, rummaging through his pack. "Jen, you want to help me make a cast?"

Jensen looks around and fingers his rifle. "Not especially."

"Oh, come on," Jared cajoles, grinning. He takes out a bottle of water and a little container of plaster, and shakes them both in what he probably means to be an enticing manner.

"I might, you know, mush it, or something," Jensen says, shifting slightly.

"You're not gonna mush it."

"There could be mushing happening."

"I'm sure you can be anti-mush for a little-"

"Guys," Alona calls out, "I'm loathe to interrupt the adorable banter, but you have to see this."

Jensen scowls at being called adorable, but Alona looks too tense to be repentant. He shrugs at Jared, then, watching his footing, he lightly walks over to where Alona and Aldis are standing at a break in the trees.

Aldis inclines his head. "Check it out."

Jensen turns and looks in the direction indicated. It's a relatively straight shot down the shoreline and Beaver's house is plainly visible, not more than half a mile away. He can see the man himself, leading a cow. They're close to the water. Too close. "What the hell is he doing?" Jensen feels something tapping against his chest and he accepts the binoculars Alona is offering. "Thanks." Now he can clearly see Beaver, the cow - with what looks like a dishtowel wrapped around it's eyes - and... "Oh," Jensen says faintly.

"What?" Jared asks.

Jensen hands him the binoculars. "Look ten feet into the water." At the giant head, he doesn't say.

"Holy shit," Jared says, paling.

Jensen decides he doesn't need to watch the upcoming carnage. Jared's look of disgust tells him all he needs to know. There's the sound of splashing and a sharp, frantic bleat. Jensen winces.

Jared lowers the binoculars and rubs at his eyes. "Wow. Did not see that coming."

"Yeah," Jensen says. "I think it's time we had another little chat with Mr. Beaver."

_____________

 

"I haven't broken any laws," Beaver says belligerently.

Jensen wants nothing more than to punch him in the face, and from the thunderous looks the others are sporting, he knows he's not the only one holding back.

"Oh, I'm pretty sure you have," he says, "would you like me to list all of them, or just the felonies? Let's start with lying to law enforcement officers which happens to be called Obstruction of Justice!"

"What was I suppose to do," Beaver asks plaintively, "tell you the truth? You'd just end up going all gung-ho and trying to kill it. It's been living here peacefully for six years, and-"

" _Six years_?!" Jared says, jaw dropping. Jensen knows his own is probably on the floor as well. "It's been here six years?"

"Well, I don't know how long it's been _here_ ," Beaver says. "That's just how long I've been feeding it."

Jensen runs a hand over his face. Six years, and he had no idea. "Keep talking."

Beaver scowls. "All I know is, Steve was out fishing one day and it just sort of... followed him home. We started feeding it some scraps - it'll eat most anything - and it kept coming back. It didn't seem to bother anybody, and we were the only ones who lived out here."

"And it just appeared?" Jared asks. "You don't know where it came from, or how it got here?"

"No," Beaver says. "Do you?" He looks genuinely interested.

Jared opens his mouth, possibly to share all the information he and Misha complied, but there's something Jensen needs to address first.

"Mr. Beaver," he says, "now that we know about the crocodile, why don't you tell us what really happened to Mr. Williams? Did you put a blindfold on him and lead him down to the water?"

Beaver looks surprised, and then the belligerence is back. "Kiss my ass, and suck my dick, flatfoot."

"No, thank you. Did the crocodile kill Mr. Williams, yes or no?"

Beaver hems and haws a bit, but finally says, "yes, all right! But it was an accident. Two years ago, one of the horses got loose and went to the lake to get a drink. Steve saw the crocodile coming in, and he tried to get the horse, but... Like I said, it was an accident." Beaver wipes at his eyes. "I knew if I reported it then people like you would come out here and kill it. Two wrongs don't make a right, so I... I just kept quiet."

Part of Jensen feels for the old guy, he really does. But that doesn't excuse anything. "Sir, because of your negligence, a deputy and a wildlife officer are dead. Deputy Tal is going to stay here with you until I send someone to collect you, do you understand?"

Beaver sniffs. "I understand you're an asshole."

"Good enough." Jensen motions to Alona, who starts to escort Beaver towards his house. He looks at Jared. "Six years."

"Misha's gonna have a field day with this," Jared says. "So will other researchers for that matter. Jensen, this could change... this could change some fundamental things we think we know about nature."

"Yeah," Jensen says, "it's trippy. And we can speculate all you want, _after_ we catch the damn thing."

"Right. Yeah." Jared sounds distracted. He's staring at what remains of Beaver's herd.

"Thinking of starting a new career as a dairy farmer?" Jensen asks.

Jared snorts. "No. But I do think I have an idea on how we can trap the croc." Jared looks at him. "Live bait."

_____________

 

Misha is, not surprisingly, thrilled with Jared's idea.

Beaver and the cow, not so much.

Jensen's letting Beaver's increasingly anatomically impossible curses roll off his back while he watches the chopper and its mooing payload head back to camp. "By the way," he says to the irate older man, "I'm also commandeering your boat."

____________

 

Back at camp Jensen's deputies have been joined by a few of Jared's friends from Fish and Game. When asked, Chad, Sandy, Mike and Tom all say there was no way Jared is going to be the only one with water-cooler bragging rights to this takedown. Jensen admires their frankness and the anticipatory gleam of the hunt in their eyes, not to mention the extra ammunition they've brought.

There's an even mix of people carrying tranq guns and high-powered rifles - even those rolling out Misha's almost comically large net have some kind of weapon on them. Chris pulls out a hand cannon complete with shells he can barely get his fingers around. At Jensen's raised eyebrow he merely says, "last line of defense."

Misha is slowly circling their area of the lake with the cow dangling limply from its harness. It had stopped mooing at some point and seemed to be, if not enjoying, then at least complacent about it's aerial tour. Until the chopper's altitude drops, that is, and the poor thing is dipped into the lake like a giant teabag.

"God, I'm glad this county doesn't have a chapter of PETA," Jensen says, cringing at the animal's plaintive cries.

Jared pats his shoulder. "It's for the greater good. Besides, she probably would have ended up as croc food anyway."

"Yeah." Jensen can't believe he's feeling sorry for a _cow_ now. He steels himself, knowing that it's just going to get worse from here on out.

"I hate to say it, Misha," Jared says into his radio, "but the more she thrashes, the better. Try to keep the tension taut, though. We don't know if she can swim." He frowns at Jensen. "Can cows swim?"

"You're seriously asking _me_ that question?"

Jared shrugs. "Cows aren't normally in my purview."

"Neither are crocodiles."

"True. Think we're gonna pull this off?"

Jensen puts a hand on Jared's back, high enough for company's sake, but low enough to be at least a little possessive. "Have faith in the cow, Jay."

Jared laughs and leans back into the touch. "Faith in the cow. I can do that."

_____________

 

Night falls quicker than anticipated. Half the trucks are maneuvered so their spotlights can illuminate the area. The others stay with their beds facing the water, ready to jump into for a quick getaway. Misha is still hovering, and the cow is still bobbing in the water, but it's stopped its kicking. Like the people on the shore, it's gone from antsy, to tired and bored.

Jensen checks his watch. "Jared," he says softly, "if it hasn't come yet..."

"Yeah, I know." Jared brings his radio up to his lips. "Misha, I think we're about done here."

"The cow has disappointed me," Misha's tinny voice says.

Jensen was never fully behind this plan to begin with, but now that it's failed he feels unaccountably distressed about the whole thing. "It probably wouldn't have worked anyway," he says, mostly to himself.

"Hold on!" Misha's voice comes over the radio. "I think I've got something on the radar screen. Wait... He's coming."

Jared and Jensen exchange startled glances. "Do you have visual confirmation? How far out is he?" Jared says into the radio.

"No visuals, just radar. He's thirty meters out, and coming in slow, but he is coming!"

"Look alive, people," Jensen yells. "Get into position; we've got a croc on the way." He slaps Jared on the arm and together they move towards one of the trucks. They climb in the back and ready their tranq guns.

"All right, Misha," Jared says, "bring him in."

Misha starts to slowly bring the cow towards shore. It's thrashing again, kicking up water and acting like the best bait it can be.

"Remember to aim for the sides and the stomach," Jared calls out, "these darts won't pierce its back."

"Oh, shit," Jensen says, pulse ratcheting up a notch. "It's here. I can see its head."

"We've got a visual, Misha," Jared says. "Keep coming in, nice and slow."

Jensen's hands flex as he watches the croc's massive head slowly advance on the struggling cow. More of the croc is surfacing now; his entire back is visible, down to his tail. He hears curses and sounds of disbelief from the people around him.

Without warning, the croc strikes at the cow. Its entire upper body leaves the water, jaws snapping at air as Misha pulls the cow out of its reach. Multiple darts are fired and while most ping harmlessly off its back, Jensen can see at least one strike home in the croc's neck. There's no elation, though, because something is very wrong with Misha's chopper. It's moving side to side erratically with short, jerky movements.

"C'mon," Jensen says, dread growing in the pit of his stomach.

The chopper comes dangerously close to the shore, then the cable dangling from its bottom is released and the cow drops into the water with a mighty splash. But the cow's splash is nothing compared to the water that goes up when Misha's helicopter slams into the lake.

"Fuck!" Jensen, along with everyone else, hits the deck as a rotary blade flies past the trucks. Wide-eyed, he looks back towards the disabled chopper. "Misha?! Does anyone see Misha?"

"We lost visual on the croc!" Mike yells.

"Goddammit." Jared slaps the side of the truck. "Back us up. Everybody, loose the tranq guns; switch to the rifles."

Everyone obeys. Chris gets out his cannon.

For a moment the only sounds Jensen hears are the nightsongs of frogs and the erratic, heavy breathing of people around him.

Then there's Misha's muffled voice saying, "balls!" The door to the chopper opens and Misha climbs out, looking even more wild and disheveled than usual. "Did we get it? Where is it?"

"Don't go into the water," Jared says. "Just, stay put. Stay still."

"Right," Misha says, clinging to his chopper like a lamprey. "No going in the water. Got it."

"Does anybody see anything?" Jensen asks.

Before anyone can answer, they _all_ see the croc rise out of the water again, right next to the downed helicopter. Misha, startled, looses his grip and falls into the water. There are shouts and screams as the croc goes under again.

Jensen doesn't realize Jared's moving until he's already out of the truck and down to the water's edge. He curses and follows, dimly aware that a few others are doing the same thing. They stand there, eyes searching, rifles trained on the water.

Misha surfaces and scrambles back onto the chopper. Jensen lets out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding.

"Where is he?" Misha asks, frantic.

No one answers. There's no sign of it. The night is once again still and calm. The water is once again hiding its secrets.

"Will you idiots please get back in the damn trucks!" Chad says, voice cracking.

Jensen reaches out to tug at Jared's sleeve when the croc surfaces again, lunging towards them. Jensen's moving by instinct, and he can feel the hot breath from the animal's maw as it snaps at the air where his head had just been. Gun shots ring out as Jensen ducks and rolls. He feels a hand grab his arm, and he and Jared run towards their truck.

"Go, go, go!" Jared's screaming. And as the truck starts to pull away, he and Jensen dive into the back. The croc is on their tails, lumbering after them, unbelievably fast for its size.

Jensen's lost his rifle, but he still has his handgun. He pulls it out, aiming and firing, hoping to catch the croc in an eye, or the soft palate of it's snapping mouth. The croc's jaw catches the bumper and the entire truck jerks. Jensen's not ready for it - he's been more focused on firing than holding on - and the word spins as he's thrown from the bed.

He hits the ground hard, jarring his shoulder and hip, but he rolls with it, and he's on his feet as the croc comes for him. There's the sharp retort of more gunfire. Jensen can hear his name being called - screamed - but all he can see are teeth, and he _can't move_ because this was inevitable, wasn't it? This creature had given him too many free passes, and now it's going to collect.

Except it doesn't take him. Instead it spins around, perhaps annoyed by the constant barrage of bullets. Jensen's senses return, and he's ready to make a run for it, but he doesn't get the chance. As the creature turns, its tail lashes out, catching Jensen in the chest and once more he's moving through the air.

He has just enough presence of mind to note how ridiculous this is and wonder if this is his fourth or fifth life he's on, before he's hitting the water. Hard.

He flounders for a moment, and when he's regained his bearings he sees the croc has regained its interest. It's heading his way again, cutting off his access to the beach. He doesn't know what to do, then he hears Misha's voice.

"Swim, Jensen! Swim to me!"

Jensen turns and starts cutting through the water. He's past the shallows and halfway to the chopper, but there's no way he going to make it.

"Dive under!" Misha yells.

He remembers; crocs can't see that well underwater.

Jensen takes a deep breath and dives. He presses his arms to his sides and lets the smooth moves of his legs propel him forward. It's still coming; he can feel it.

Through the murk, Jensen sees an old pylon from a previous dock and he ducks behind it. He peeks around and looks straight down the croc's gullet as it comes for him. Jensen winces and hunches in on himself, but the croc's mouth catches on the thick pylon. He cringes as the wood behind him shudders. It won't hold up to those jaws for long, so Jensen makes his escape while he's able.

Lungs burning, Jensen moves towards the dark shape that he hopes is Misha's helicopter. He breaks the surface by one of the floats, and Misha's hands are on him, helping him up and out of the water.

"Holy shit," Misha says. "Holy shit, Jensen." He rubs his hands over Jensen's arms.

Jensen realizes he's trembling. He takes a few deep breathes and tries to calm himself. He looks towards shore and raises a hand to Jared and the others.

Misha's chuckle sounds a bit hysterical, but his voice is relatively steady as he says, "if we make it out of this alive, I do believe you're going to get lucky tonight."

Jensen snorts. "So not my type, Collins." He knocks their shoulders together, and when Misha clasps his hand he squeezes his fingers. "And that's a pretty damn big 'if'."

"Yeah, well-"

The float beneath them rocks as the croc comes up _through_ the damn helicopter, his snout and head snapping the pilot's door off. Jensen's back into the water - again - as he and Misha struggle to get away from the rampaging beast. They don't have to worry, though, because - after a few seconds of frantic splashing - Jensen realizes that the croc isn't rampaging anymore. In fact, it appears that it's-

"Stuck!" Misha cries out. "It's stuck!" He throws his head back and laughs.

"Moron," Jensen mutters, but he can't help but feel a bit elated himself. Though he's not putting his guard down anytime soon, it does seem that the croc is well and truly trapped by the twisted metal of the chopper. It doesn't stop the the animal from trying to get loose, and one mighty jerk has it, and the helicopter, moving dangerously close to where he and Misha are treading water.

"Come on." Jensen grabs the back of Misha's shirt and tugs him towards shore. He's trying to keep one eye on the croc, but when his feet hit land all he can see is the khaki of Jared's shirt as he's pressed into a firm, hard chest. Jensen lets his eyes close, and he simply breathes in Jared's scent.

"Fuck," Jared says. "Thought I'd lost you. Was sure you were... Fuck."

He hugs Jensen hard enough to press the air from his lungs, and Jensen has to poke him in his side to get him to loosen his hold. "Ease up, Jay. I'm all right," Jensen says. He pulls back and checks Jared over for any injuries. "What about you?"

Jared's smile is soft and sappy. "I'm not the one who went into the water. Again."

"Shut up."

"I think you might have a problem."

"Shut. Up."

"The first step is admitting it."

"Will you-"

There's the ominous sound of straining metal and everyone tenses, turns, and braces themselves. The croc still struggling in it's impromptu prison. Aldis raises his gun and shoots a dart into the creature's neck. Without a moment's hesitation, he then puts another one in an inch to the left of the first.

The croc shudders once, then is still.

"Just in case," Aldis says, shrugging. "You guys can start up the banter again. Alona's right; it's adorable."

"Weren't you gonna quit?" Jensen asks.

"Eh. Changed my mind. How could I leave all this adventure?"

As a counterpoint to the heavily drugged crocodile, Misha is almost frazzled with energy. "Where's the net?! Get the net. And a camera. Somebody find my camera! We need pictures. Lots of pictures. This is going in National Geographic!"

"Admit it; you're glad he didn't get eaten," Jared says, his voice a tickle by Jensen's ear.

Jensen shakes his head. "No comment." But he's smiling, and when Misha drags him and Jared in front of the comatose croc for a picture, he goes willingly.

____________

 

Jensen looks around the former campground. The tents are down, the trucks are packed, the crocodile's been contained - on its way to that holding tank in Portland - and the cow's been corralled. In a way, despite the horrors he's faced over the past few days, he thinks he just might miss this - the comradery and adventure, not so much the near-death experiences. Or all the dunking.

Jensen rubs a towel over his still-damp hair and turns to look at the lake. He can feel someone come up behind him and without looking, Jensen knows it's Jared.

"It really _is_ beautiful out here," Jared says standing beside Jensen, their shoulders barely touching.

"Yeah," Jensen says. "It's not half bad. Still never gonna come out here voluntarily again, though." He listens to Jared laugh. "You ready to head out?"

"Just about, yeah." Jared grins, and holds out one of his hands. "Sheriff." They shake, holding on for longer than what's usually acceptable. "In spite of our less than auspicious beginning, I've been... You've been... It's been... really something," Jared finally gets out.

"Really something?" Jensen raises an eyebrow. "That's what you've got for me? I nearly die for like the tenth time in forty-eight hours and _really something_ is the best you can do?"

With the blood draining from his face, Jared looks kind of waxy in the moonlight. "Uh... No?"

Jensen crowds in close to the bigger man. His confidence is bolstered when, instead of turning tail and running, Jared leans into him. "Look, I don't do well with beating around the bush, or being coy, or stuff like that, so I'm just gonna come out and say that I'd really like to see you again when our lives aren't in horrible danger." He takes a breath and goes for broke. "Like maybe tonight, when you stay over at my house."

Jared barks out a laugh. "That's one hell of an invitation." He lets his hands settle on Jensen's hips. "I don't know, though. Relationships forged in high-stress situations don't-" He doesn't get a chance to finish his sentence because Jensen's wrapped his arms around Jared's neck and pulled him down into a kiss. It's sweet, almost chaste, but the promise of _more_ is right there beneath the surface.

They pull apart to the sound of wolf-whistles and cat-calls. Jensen knows even the night can't hide his blush, but he doesn't care. Not while Jared's looking at him like he hung the moon.

"What was that about relationships and high-stress situations?" Jensen asks.

"They end up being pretty damn awesome."

"Good answer."

_____________

end


End file.
